The Veldin 133rd Regiment
by C and C Fan
Summary: A crossover with Ratchet and Clank. When an unknown ship crashes onto Veldin,the Senate rushes to aid, only to find out that what they find doesn't exactly come in peace.
1. Prologue

Imperial Guard Carrier _Pharon _was swallowed by the warp rift. Ship navigators sprawled and twisted from the abrupt spike of psionic energy. Their all-seeing eyes wept blood and burst from the warp's stress. Ship computers' screens flashed warning lights and sirens blared. Shipmen and Officers bounced across the walls, ceilings, and floors of the vessel as the artificial gravity fluctuated wildly by the warp's chaotic nature. _Pharon _was lost.

The metal frame was twisted, burnt, and frozen. Hundreds perished in the instant of entry. Many thousand more would perish through the perilous journey through the doomed thoroughfare.

The fate of the crewmen was hardly uncommon, as even the largest and best equipped of the ships of the Imperium were at the mercy of the entities of Chaos and the strength of the constantly changing Astronimican. Countless lives have been lost by cruel twists of fate and by hungry daemons. But a few thousand lives lost were only a grain of sand compared to the imposing mountain of the Imperium. Humanity must endure and conquer, all in the name of their God Emperor.

Through this mentality of eternal conquest and conversion, the Imperium stretched onward. Never stopping, never ending, never looking back, the undying fire of the human race could never be extinguished. And like an inferno, it was an ever consuming, ever destroying force, burning without pity or thought. The twin might of the Hammer of the Emperor and Adeptus Astartes spearheaded their eternal crusade across the galaxy, bringing both death and order to the worlds. And in secret, the Inquisition purged and purified, burning and casting out the hated deviants, the nonhuman.

But more often, humans just killed out of fear, or out of pure spite. To many in the universe, they were fearful abominations, resembling the insectoid Tyranids out of their eternal hunger for new worlds to harvest and conquer and the lifeless Necrons out of their willingness to commit genocide.

Though mankind was strong, humans were not invincible. Compared to many of the races of the galaxy, they are physically weak and fragile. But they compensated this lack of strength through pure will and determination.

Humans has been temporarily slowed, halted, or even driven back, but they always returned. Mankind has yet to meet their match in the open battlefield as the combined might of the Guard, Marines, and Ecclesiarcy have not pacified a foe yet. Often their foes are disorganized and weak, lacking the vast resources and strength of their opponents.

There was no counterpart for the Imperium, not even the Tau who came close with their castes and technology, for they lacked the sheer vastness of the human's empire.

But that would soon change. As the ship Pharon reentered our dimension on a distant world far beyond the reach of the tyrannical forces of the Milky Way, another great power became aware that there was new life in the galaxy. The vessel plummeted, melting the warp induced permafrost and simultaneously scorching the already twisted metal of the hull. And with an almighty crash, displacing thousands of tons of dirt and rock, the carrier came to rest.

Only a short duration of time passed before the Solana Senate gained knowledge of the event. In haste, a Senate emissary was dispatched to Veldin, for an opportunity for a new ally and knowledge was an opportunity to significant to turn down.


	2. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Unknown Desert Planet

The remnants of the 133rd Regiment milled around the charred corpse of _Pharon_. Vehicle crews, techpriests, and psykers were gathered around the husk of the carrier, attempting to salvage the remains or find survivors in the darkness. Engineers and technicians cut through doors and walls with plasma cutters and meltas, desperately entering lopsided and severely damaged cabins, in hopes that not all was lost.

Sometimes barely conscious and barely sane crewmen rolled out from under the torn steel plates of the wreckage, while more often than not, horrifically burnt and mutilated corpses were found pinned under the debris. The regimental carrier itself fared even worse than the unfortunate crewmen. The entire ship was bisected, with the fore off the vessel broken off like a rusty bayonet blade. A quarter of the hull was buried in the sand, making recovery of it impossible without full Adeptus Mechanicus support. The prow of the ship was blackened and inverted from the force of reentry, making complete replacement the only solution. This was the last time that _Pharon _would fly. The only thing possible was to salvage and pray to the Emperor.

Half a mile away, Troop Commander Kayle observed his troops under the night sky. The light infantry of the 133rd congregated in a small clearing around their leader's podium, eager to listen to his advice to escape the dilemma. Randomly strew glowglobes, some malfunctioning, illuminated the scene. Black and crimson clad Commissars stood stoically in stark contrast among the ragged and dirty infantry, while burning vehicles dotted the field in smoking glass craters. It was a sorrowful sight. Yet Commander Kayle thought otherwise. All the recent efforts exhausted and drained the men, but at least they all had open ears. _A first,_ thought Kayle to himself. He began his short speech.

"Men, we are lost in the universe. We are millions of light years away from our home world, and even further from Terra. We are trapped here, in the forsaken desert, far from our comrades, from our families, from the Imperium. Yet even here, on this desolate rock the Emperor's Astronimcan is existent, meaning that even his will is not bound by the borders of our galaxy. We may never be able to return to our real home, _D'if_. But we can make this our home, this heathen sphere of quartz and dust, into a world of the Imperium. For wherever the Emperor's will exists, that means humanity was meant to be there. And if the Emperor believes that this barren rock was meant to be settled, then he must have great plans indeed. For the Imperium, we will claim this world." Kayle felt satisfied from this short speech, hoping that his troops will feel a little better about their quite, inescapable predicament.

Several cheers rang out from the crowd, but most just gave a quiet applause. Kayle frowned, for usually he gets unanimous shouts of joy and imperial fervor from his brief orations. Stepping down from his platform, he dismissed the guardsmen. They went back to their duties of setting up the base along with their respective Commissars.

He sighed and returned to the main site of the crash. Even though the light was poor, he could see the carrier quite well against the sky. The pair of husks which was once the pride of D'if stuck out like a pair of Tyranid fangs from the amber colored landscape. And although Kayle was not a man who felt sorrow on a daily basis, the destruction of a place he used to call home more often than his own world saddened him. He shook his head, clearing himself of these thoughts. _Duty first._

He called out for his David, his personal commissar advisor, through his comm unit. While he waited, he observed the setup of their base. Lines of workers trailed back from the wreck to the impromptu construction of the base. The regimental commander was reminded of the great forge worlds he once visited.

Guards hauled crates and raw materials while tech priests started setting up the frame of the buildings with the assistance of servitors. As their first home died, their new one began to take form.

_At least this isn't a total loss_, thought Kayle as he sat upon the crest of a dune. Even though many of the supplies were lost in the crash, at least 60 percent of the original provisions were able to be salvaged. _Thank the emperor for Adeptus Mechanicus. And even though it's heretical to have doubt, the human race would not have prevailed if it were not for them,_ as he watched the techpriests and engineers dismantling the titanic carrier like how ants would butcher an animal carcass. His analysis of the construction was interrupted by a familiar basso voice coming from behind. He craned his head backwards and was not surprised to see a familiar greatcoat and hat.

"You called me, sir?" asked David. He was a stout and burly man, being capable to single handedly wield an eviscerator chainsword and a bolt pistol. However, he was also short, being only 5 feet 6, but made up for it with the aura of menace and perpetual scowl that became characteristic to him throughout the 133rd. These features were compounded by his wrinkled and scarred visage. A corporal once laughed at the man, comparing him to a Squat. The guard's legs were promptly amputated and he was "honorably discharged" in a chem pit. Despite his harsh temper and unpleasant features, he was always eager to listen.

Kayle began. "David, we are in some deep shit. The deepest shit we've been in since that encounter with the 'nid fleet. The majority of our navigators was killed or became insane since the warp trip. Our ship was shredded by reentry and we're stuck on some planet without communication with Imperial command. The only way we can probably get off this place at all is if we somehow find tech here which is FTL capable. The chances of that occurring on this world are almost a billion to one. But still, that's a chance. We need to see if we can at least get to know the lay of the land. Can you see to it that our scouts start mapping the area as soon as possible?"

"Of course, Kayle," replied the Commissar. He tilted his cap in respect and was about to walk back to the crude establishment of a base, but before he has taken two steps Kayle called him back.

"If you find a native, whether its xeno or Imperial, take it alive. We can't afford to have our one ticket out of here killed by an Eccleshiary zealot or a careless private." He glanced back as he saw a Leman Russ tank roll across the perimeter of the cleaved ship, kicking up dust and mangling several of the dead without any signs of speeding. Kayle winced visibly with every sickening bone-snapping crunch the treads made. "On the other hand, send some shock troopers along with your scouts. Instruct them to use non-lethal force in all situations unless it is critical. And one more thing: No heavy weaponry or tanks. We are Imperials, not brutish alien scum." He gave a nod. "You can go,"

David gave another quick bow and walked back to camp. Kayle watched his friend trudge back to the establishment, watching his crimson coat disappear into the desert glom. _Probably going to bust a few heads on his way back, too._

The Commander smiled for his friend, and then got a cigar from out of the silver case on his belt. Lighting it with an archaic lighter he picked off the corpse of an ork chieftan, he held it up to his lips and starting taking a few drafts. Between puffs, Kayle thought about what unknown prospects this desert planet would hold for the 133rd. When there was only a roach left, he stood up, dusted off his cape and shirt, and crushed it beneath his boot.

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"Why exactly are we coming home, Clank?" inquired Ratchet as he maneuvered his own 2 man craft toward the orange sphere of his home world. The Lombax hated surprise missions like this. But at least this was to his original home, which wasn't so bad if he blocked out all the unpleasant memories of growing up in the slums.

"Apparently, the Senate here reports that a large ship, approximately a 10,000 by 5000 feet entered the atmosphere yesterday. It's not registered in any system or galaxy we know of," replied the robot sitting in the passenger seat.

"I already know that, Clank. But why do we even have to do this? I mean can't the Rangers handle this by themselves?" Clank had an annoying tendency to not answer the original question.

"They have displayed constant ineptitude when in the face of danger. Despite the President's reassurance, the general public holds a low view about them. To counter this outrage, they've sent us, the so called "Heroes of 2 Galaxies" to do their dirty work. Frankly, I think the president is more worried about his budget for harlots and mansions than arming and training the Rangers,"

"So that's what we are, just a pair of pawns?" Ratchet's ears flattened.

"Aren't we all one time or another?" His metallic partner suddenly started to become very interested with the décor of the ceiling.

Ratchet was about to answer when the ship started to shake violently. Ratchet would have dashed his brains out on the controls if it weren't for his for his seat belts. Immediately, his sense kicked into full gear. He switched on the auto pilot with a practiced flick, not needing to look to see where it was. A quick glance at the monitor showed that all systems were normal, but the tremors continued. He also checked outside, scanning to see if they were under attack or if they somehow stumbled into an asteroid or debris field.

There was nothing however, only the distant shape of Veldin and the black void of space.

"C-Clank, st-status report!" yelled Ratchet over the tremors. The safety restraints started to dig into his skin. The G-Force started to make the belts slowly press against his chest, making it nearly impossible to breathe. "C-clank?" he wheezed out, gripping onto the wheel.

"The ship is functioning at full capacity. However, radiation waves surrounding the ship are at unusually high levels. These readouts would usually be found when next to a small sun. Luckily, we are protected from this, by the shields, but it isn't wise if we linger. If we continue at our current pace, we'll be able to get away from these waves in only a few moments," explained Clank with cool debonair. He was remarkably aloof about this, reclining in his seat with his hands behind his chrome plated head. The same could not be said about organic companion, whom was struggling to not be throttled by his own harness.

Within a few seconds, the shakes ceased. Ratchet immediately undid the belts and started sucking in air. His lungs couldn't take in the sudden volume of air and caused the Lombax to start coughing violently. After a brief battle for control of his airway, Ratchet turned his attention toward his partner. "Clank! I nearly died there!" he shouted between the coughs and gasps. He grasped the wheel with both hands, trying to brace himself.

"I'm truly sorry, Ratchet, I was just thinking about what I should wear to my next press conference," Clank was still gazing upwards, as if nothing has occurred at all. Ratchet glowered and returned to piloting.

_Clank's been acting weird ever since we've gotten this mission_, Ratchet looked at Clank out of the corner of his eye. He seemed more anxious than usual, his short legs moving back and forth at a regular rhythm, his head twitching at different angles as if he was trying to make the illusion that he was preoccupied with the scenery.

"Clank? Really, why is this mission so important?" blurted out Ratchet suddenly after several minutes of silence. He waited for a reply. When he didn't get any, he looked over at his friend again. "Yo, Clank!" Ratchet waved his right hand over his eyes.

He didn't respond and just kept staring off into space until Ratchet tapped him on the shoulder. Clank immediately started, jolting his body upwards so quickly that his companion's hand was knocked aside.  
"Yes!" Clank shouted. When he noticed that his companion's pained expression, he put his head in his hands. "I'm really sorry, Ratchet. I'm just scared," he mumbled.

Ratchet didn't mean it, but he burst out laughing. "What!? We've carved through legions of elite killing robots, thousands of Tyhrranoids, and we've even beaten the greatest superhero _and_ supervillian twice! And you're worried about a scouting mission?" He slapped his buddy on the back, almost knocking him out of his seat.

"Ratchet, it's more than that. This is probably the most important mission we had since the Biobliterator Crisis." He started wringing his hands, popping the metallic digits until small sparks started flying out of his knuckles

"How so? I mean what could be bigger than saving the whole freaking universe from turning into robots?"

"It's complicated. The Senate kind of thinks, that maybe, somewhere, that there is an organization or state equal to or greater than its power. And maybe that ship could be from that particular place, if it even exists." He shrugged. "I'm just scared that maybe they came for invasion. With the current states of affairs, if an invasion force arrived…" Clank's eyes started becoming unfocused again.

"Oh, I see." A grin started to unfold on Ratchet's face. "Well we just have to see then, huh?"


	3. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

The Loyal Servant Learns to Love the Lash

Kayle examined himself in front of the mirror in his quarters. His visage has begun to become increasingly unclean and filthy. His recently smashed nose was still discolored and flat, and his hair was starting to grow out sporadically in random patches. Small things like basic hygiene could only be put on hold for so long.

Adeptus Mechanicus has been kind enough to recover his old cabins from the _Pharon_, hacking and melting through dozens of plasteel walls and tons of heavy machinery to reach his rooms before surgically moving it from the ship with minimum collateral damage. They were reinstalled into the command center they recently erected. They also went to the trouble of restoring it to its past luster minus the scorch marks and distorted walls and ceiling.

After thoroughly washing his face and trimming his outgrown hair, he took out his shaving kit. He removed the cutthroat razor from its leather case, and while he sharpened it, he reflected upon the regiment's current matters.

It has been 3 days since he issued the order to map the area. Even with David's best efforts to send the most elite scouts and sentinel teams, everything within a 100-mile radius was apparently barren basalt rock and sand.

_We're fragged,_ he thought as he started to scoop out the soap a tin. The chunky cream was a mixture of alchohol and jellied promethium. It clung to his flesh like a second skin, and even though it burned and stung the open cuts, his personal situation overshadowed the pain.

_We're absolutely fragged. _Kayle grasped the edge of the basin and tried to take his mind off it. He looked at one particularly protruding bulge in the plasteel next to the mirror. The techs told him that since his personal emergency armory was located next to the washroom, fire posed a particularly deadly hazard. The crash apparently ignited several cases of bolter shells, stippling his washroom wall with circular knobs and perforations and shattering his old mirror.

_Good thing I was on the bridge._ He was giving a briefing when they exited warp space. No one expected what would happen next. The sudden return to reality was more than the navigators could take. The ship was buffeted cruelly by a combination of atmospheric reentry and warp energies. Kayle himself was thrown over the railing, fell 15 feet and landed on his face, breaking his nose.

He awoke in cave darkness, unable to see even his own hands, likewise the exit. Somehow though, he was able to get back out into the open. In those few terrifying hours, stumbling and blinded, he thought that he was in some sort of daemonic world, for he knew of nowhere else they could have landed. When he saw light again, Kayle thought he was hallucinating, maybe insane.

_No doubt, there's dozens, maybe hundreds of brave men trapped within the darkness still. There are more dead than living. _He stopped staring at the metal, and began cleaning the blade. _Maybe that's what the Imperium is like. A broken ship crewed by the dead, lost, and insane. Only the Guard has the freedom to live free of the machinations._

He picked up the razor started shaving, alternating between upward and downward strokes. Thick brown clumps of hair mixed with white foam started dropping wetly into the washbasin and drained down. As he sliced, he was reminded of Frederick. It was during the accidental encounter with the Tyranid fleet. They were able to escape, but not before a swarm of the bugs were able to board the ship.

Kayle stopped and looked at his reflection on the side of the blade. Fredrick used to be his right hand man David was transferred. He was the oldest veteran sergeant, more than a century year old. He has seen more deaths in his lifetime than most men have seen living people. A century of battle and servitude. But did that save him in the end?

He was among the soldiers who fought back against the 'nids in the cargo hold. He was leading a cargo inspection when the pods entered the bay. It was a loss from the start. The men were armed with only hand tools and laspistols. There were at least a dozen tyrants. Several hundred other bugs were with them. But they weren't simply torn apart and eaten. The Emperor-damned nids somehow knew that outside help wouldn't be coming, that it was _Pharon's _personal regulation to quarantine anything and everything if it was to prevent the spread of disease or tyranids.

The crewmen were disarmed and put into lines. They were flayed, then eviscerated, and finally consumed by dozens of rippers. Frederick knew that he wasn't going to be saved. He had no firearms not even a nail gun. That didn't stop him though. Every room had an emergency oxygen supply, and could all be activated with a remote switch.

By the time the Sergeant was up next, 85% of the room's air was oxygen. The bugs must have known because a tyrant promptly grasped him by the torso and bit off his legs. The worst was yet to follow.

There was a Devourer. Kayle could remember his friend's gushing sockets as Frederick gouged out his eyes with the ornamental dagger he personally gave to him. As his friend's spinal cord was eaten along with his sanity, Frederick was able to ignite his cigarette lighter.

Kayle had his men scour the bodies for his comrade's remains. They only found his skull and the blade.

He kept it after the battle, not really knowing why. In fact he still had it inside his recovered wardrobe, which amazingly was unharmed. It was as if Frederick refused to die, his insane spirit clinging onto the blade to resist the pull of the warp. He resumed shaving.

The commander first cut on the left, and then repeated on the right severing the hairs a millimeter at a time. Kayle kept on going with fervor, as if he could hack away the memories like the minute hairs on his face, not even stopping after the cream was long gone and his skin was bleeding raw.

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"Why do we have to land here Clank?" asked Ratchet, scratching his head with a gloved hand. Looking out from behind the thick glass, he was disappointed to see that they were approaching a vast desert. Their ship apparently was designated to land in a remote patch of sand somewhere in that dune sea. Ratchet was expecting to have a grand welcome by the citizens of Veldin. Being carried across the city by a thousand adoring fans seemed appropriate for the Heroes of the Galaxy.

"We have explicit orders from the Senate to appear unthreatening. If an enormous crowd approached the visitors, there may be tension. Your admirers would no doubt follow you across the galaxy and beyond, and that's good, but they have no place in government business," replied Clank wearily.

His companion was becoming more and more visibly agitated as they became closer to their objective. His feet started drumming out an annoying metallic rhythm on the front of his seat. For the last 5 hours, Clank went through seemingly dozens of attempts to delay the mission and irritate his friend in nearly every way possible.

"Would you please quit with the noise, Clank?" snarled Ratchet after 10 minutes of the earsplitting racket. "Driver courtesy, remember?"

The din stopped immediately.

"I'm sorry, Ratchet," apologized Clank for the umpteenth time. "I'm just-"

"Nervous bout the mission and that I'll will get killed or worse. Yeah I know," finished his friend. "Ain't the first time, either, and certainly won't be the last. We've been through too much to die now, right?"

"I guess so." He shrugged. "We've just come awfully far since the no name mechanic-" Ratchet chuckled. "-and a flawed production model from some Sentry factory. I can't believe that all happened only a few years ago!"

Ratchet laughed at the memories that brought back: Him and Clank going to the world premier of the Secret Agent Clank movie. Him and Clank hoverboarding. Him and Clank posting vids of themselves doing retarded stunts on Holo-Web.

"Can't believe half of the stupid crap we did in that time either!" burst out the Lombax between laughs.

"Yes, but we all had to bear with the sadness at one point in time or the other. Many of our Ranger friends and companions weren't saved in our adventures," Clank said softly.

"They died because of us, for us. Would they have gone if they knew it was going to be their last chapter?"

After a long pause, he answered. "No. They wouldn't have. Only a saint or a nut would be crazy enough to do something in which they will die out of free will. They all knew the risks but didn't plan for it. We live upon the sacrifices and death of others, Clank. We're not heroes, we're just survivors."

"We aren't heroes," repeated the robot softly. "Not heroes,"

"Oh, Clank, don't be so gloomy." Chided the lombax. "If it's our assignment that's buggin you, remember its just a peace mission. No guns blazing, no ambushes, just questions and answers. What could possibly go wrong anyways? We're emissaries, and any nation that can build mile long ships should recognize diplomacy. 'Cept maybe Nefarious, Vox, Drek, and all the other villains we fought, but hey! If the worst happens, we always have the option for calling in orbital bombardment, courtesy of the Senate." Clank raised an eyebrow, "But even if that's not enough," Ratchet took his hand off the wheel and opened a large compartment adjacent to his seat. "The Omega Ryno 4-ever, black market edition," exclaimed Ratchet while he hefted the massive weapon out. Clank had to crane his head upwards to see him. Ratchet put on a deep announcer's voice.

"Just point and watch the pyrotechnics. No need for accuracy, no need for finesse, just pure thermite, uranium, and testosterone,". Ratchet then began staring at the gun dreamily, only returning to piloting the ship when his companion reminded him. He replaced the missile launcher back into its case. "We have nothing to worry about, see?" said Ratchet, flashing Clank his trademark grin.

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Ready, Clank?" said Ratchet. He started tightening the belts of the 7-point harness unconsciously, fastening the belts until they started digging into his skin.

"Ready," replied the robot with an affirmative nod. Clank wore a simple 4 harness, confident that it would suffice for the landing.

Ratchet gritted his teeth and pulled a bright red lever on the ceiling. "_Landing gear engaged," _droned out the robotic voice of the ship. The duo checked their straps for any extra slack. Making last minutes adjustments, the pair started to gravitate toward the back of their seats.

It wasn't long before Ratchet felt the G-Force star pressing his hair flat and his ears back. He scowled at the idea of what his beautifully combed and treated fur would be like when they landed.

While his organic friend was fussing over the condition of his hairstyle when they touchdown, Clank was thinking of something entirely different. Their rapid descent reminded him of the zooming in capability of a land-surveying program that he used frequently. The rocks and boulders began to grow exponentially within a few seconds, expanding to threefold size within a few seconds.

Within a minute the ship began to slow as the VTOL engines kicked in. The craft gradually decelerated and lose altitude until it hovered 10 feet above a small clearing, kicking up copious amounts of dust and sand.

With a resounding boom, the emissary craft settled down. A small of explosion of grit erupted out from the sides, creating a ring of displaced sand around. The ship however was slightly lopsided, with one wing on the crest of a dune and the other stuck a foot deep into the ground.

Ratchet undid the belts and slouched back, sighing in relief as normal circulation was restored to his limbs. "So far so good, Clank," He said in a tired voice. The cabin seemed to become very blurry and dark. The lombax shut his eyes, trying to get a brief respite before going outside.

"Ratchet, I believe we should at least survey the area," scolded his partner, undoing the seatbelt. "Our guests may end up hurting themselves or worse, hurting someone else! We need to find out about them as much as possible-"

"Clank, I didn't get to sleep for 20 hours," mumbled Ratchet with his eyes closed. "Give me an hour's shuteye at least, okay?" With that he promptly started snoring loudly.

Clank knew personally that his friend never snored and that he was faking it to make him go. "Stupid sleepy squishies," he muttered under his breath. Clank often made the mistake of scheduling activities and exercises that went far beyond Ratchet's physical needs and capacities. Even without full consciousness, the lombax was quite irritating. More often than not, he found Ratchet smothering his pillow with his mouth whilst moaning the names of various female actresses.

Punching in the combination for the vacuum seals unlock, he pondered what he should say when he met the aliens._ Greeting visitors, we come with open arms _or _We wish to make a peaceful compromise._ The Senate wasn't very specific on what he and Ratchet should do other than to "make peace in the event that an alien presence is existent". _I wonder why they even bothered this time._ _The bigwigs would care less about their Galactic citizens and more about celebrity interrelationships._

The cockpit hissed open, folding back into the slits in the rear. Before climbing out though, he set the motion alarm. _Ratchet is completely defenseless while recharging himself. _Clank glanced back at the sleeping form of Ratchet, and seeing the unconscious grin on his furry face, he couldn't help but smile himself. Shutting the cockpit, he jumped down to the ground.

Clank took one last nostalgic look back the ship, and then set off. Walking at a brisk pace of 5 miles per hour, he went off to the east, making small crunching sounds as his metallic feet sunk into the sand. While he was walking, he checked his GPS. The brown rectangle of the ship was now bordered by numerous dark squares. The alien craft also seemed shrunken as if it has decayed.

Clank frowned. _Those weren't there before, _replacing the GPS with his digital notebook. He brought up the images he received from the mission briefing. Comparing the two, he noticed the obvious differences. The structures were obviously of not Veldin design, since they were above ground so…

Clank's spirits lifted. At least he didn't have to spend several days with a disgruntled Lombax looking for survivors. But this brought along another problem: How he would actually conduct entry into the establishment. Considering the aliens were advanced enough to build an entire fort within several days, he wouldn't be surprised if they had the firepower to take over the planet, let alone the system. He probably didn't have much time.

Storing his notebook back into his chest, he broke off into a run; despite the fact it made little difference since he was originally designed for urban pavement. After 30 minutes of intense sprinting (and occasional embarrassing stumbles) the small robot finally reached his destination. The ship was supposedly only half a kilometer away. Clambering onto a nearby rock, he adjusted his optics and assumed a prone position.

From atop the boulder, he gazed down upon the camp. The very sight both amazed and terrified him. Hundreds of black soldiers marched to the orders of red clad ones. The ugly boxy vehicles seemed primitive but even the smallest were several times the size of Ratchet's ship. And Clank didn't like the size of those guns. By the looks of the missiles they were packing it'd make Ratchet's RYNO look like a novelty firecracker in comparison.

"A Xeno!" yelled a voice out from behind Clank. He spun back to see an alien armed with what looked like a Flux Rifle. It looked sort of like a small Blarg, but with a body more proportioned to the likeness of a Cazar or Lombax. "Commissar, we found one!" shouted the alien, keeping his rifle trained on his chest. Clank was not swayed by the violent greeting however, and began his introduction.

"Greetings, I'm Emissary Clank, a representative from the Galactic Senate." said Clank politely, morphing the nanotech around his body into his tuxedo.

"We wish to-" started Clank.

"Xeno!" bellowed out another voice. Clank turned his head, and saw several more of the same species. The speaker was clad in bright crimson and was noticeably shorter than most of the accompanying soldiers, but gave off a distinct air of leadership. "You are wanted by the Commander. However, if you resist or show hostilities us humans, then we will purge you."

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	4. Filler

Filler: Ratchet's Dream

"Hey Ratchet!" yelled Clank. Ratchet opened his eyes, and saw that he was lying facedown on his penthouse Emperor-of-the-Universe sized bed. Shifting his head slightly to the right, he saw his familiar metal nightstand and his closet.

"Ratchet!" The robot started shaking his bed. "It's Breakfast! Wouldn't-want-it-to-get-cold!" said Clank in between kicks.

"All right, all right!" responded his friend with a yawn. Ratchet lazily rolled out of bed, taking some bed sheets and a pillow down with him. "Let me just get dressed first, kay?"

Clank grumbled and slammed the door behind him. Ratchet smirked, and walked to his closet.

Tapping in the key code without looking, he mused about the dream he had last night. There was something about landing back home and Clank getting angry with aliens or something.

He suddenly broke out of his daydream when he realized he repeated the unlock code several times over. Ratchet shook his head, trying to clear out the bizarre memories. He opened the door of the walk-in, trying to think whether he should dress up in his dark green long shorts or his dark green cutoff pants.

Whatever thoughts of garments instantly vanished as he saw a familiar blue sewage worker rummaging through a toolbox, his back faced to him. The lombax's heart skipped a beat when the Plumber noticed him and turned, the extra weight clearly shown through his too tight overalls.

"Oh hi! You have any sewer crystals on you by any chance?!" asked the Plumber cheerfully, his overweight form jiggling from side to side.

"AAAAAAAAAA!!!" shrieked Ratchet in unrestrained terror, diving to his right and slamming the door shut. Pulling out his blaster from the nightstand he rolled over his bed and pushed it onto its side. Using the mattress for makeshift cover, he trained the firearm at the door. "Hey! Can you at least spare some money for the shuttle!" protested the Plumber through the door.

"Clank! CLANK!" shouted Ratchet, partly confused, furious, and scared shitless.

"Yes?" responded the robot politely from downstairs. "Having closet troubles? Can't find your favorite pair of Quark underoos?" He giggled at his own joke, which would have annoyed Ratchet if it weren't for the fact an overweight alien sewage was present inside his linen closet.

"Uh, Yeah! Clothes! Trouble!" replied Ratchet, trying futilely to his hands steady. _I've seen some pretty weird crap in my years, but this one takes the cake!_

"Okay Ratchet what horrible tragedies have begotten you now?" asked Clank, as he stomped up the stairs. "Don't like the tights I got from Heroes Plus? I hear it's very popular with the ladies. You want to attract the ladies don't you? If you don't it's okay. I mean if you're attracted to the same sex that's also okay. I'll just change your TV favorites to Queer Eye and that supposed "Manly Channel" which is for men or somewhat. Ratchet-" Clank paused upon seeing his friend cowering from behind his bed, nervously pointing the blaster at the door.

"What are you doing?" inquired Clank in annoyance, his hands on his hips.

"P-p-p-p-p-plum-pluma-pluma nnnn C-c-c-close-CLOSET!" stammered the Lombax.  
"The plumber's in the closet?" Clank raised an eyebrow. His partner nodded in reply, too traumatized to respond verbally. Clank sighed exasperatedly, stomped off to the other side of the room, punched in the code, and kicked the closet open. A few seconds of silence passed before Clank answered.

"I think you should see this, Ratchet!" Clank said with a barely concealed giggle.

Ratchet, who was clutching the pistol against his chest, cringed at his friend's voice. Cautiously he took a quick peek from out behind the mattress, and saw nothing but Clank waving at him. _It could be a trick, better play at safe. Can't forget about Klunk_ he reminded himself, resisting the urge to run.

Picking up a particularly bulky cushion, he held it out in front like a shield. Inching across the room with the improvised riot shield, Ratchet started toward the closet.

"Are you alright, Ratchet?" said Clank with a concerned tone.

"I'm fine! Better than ever!" mumbled back Ratchet.

20 minutes later, Ratchet stood by his open closet door. Bracing himself up against the wall, he steeled himself for the encounter.

"Okay motherfucker, let's do this!" growled Ratchet, weakly attempting to be frightening. Chucking the pillow in for a diversion, he jumped into the walk-in, tackled the robot to the carpet, and rammed the Blaster under the chin.

"Did you get into Skid's stash again?" inquired Clank, seemingly unconcerned from the fact his best friend had his foot pressing down upon his chest compartment. "I was just going to tell you I found those educational brochures on the biology of various species you cried all last night about losing." He lifted up a stack of very worn and ripped adult magazines from out beneath a pile of stained laundry.

"Oh."

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Ratchet buried his face into his hands. Assaulting his best friend inside a closet while hallucinating about imaginary plumbers wasn't the best way to start a morning. He lied back down onto his bed, trying to forget about that shameful accident. He broke out of his lamentations when he felt familiar cold fingers nudging him on his shoulder.

"Yeah, Clank?" said Ratchet through his fingers, being too embarrassed to show his face. Clank continued prodding Ratchet until he took his hands off his face.

Clank was standing next to his now readjusted bed, holding a large tray crammed with various bowls and plates.

"Your breakfast," Clank said in his normal tone of voice. He didn't sound or look any angrier than he was before that fiasco.  
"Oh, thanks!" Briefly overcome by a sudden hunger pang, he snatched the tray of food out of his friend's hands. Right before he sunk his fork into the caviar omelet, though, he stopped himself.

"Um, Clank, I' m sorry about this morning and stuff. I didn't know what the hell was happening all along. I just wanted to thank you for, um, bearing with the fact I acted, uh, irresponsible,"

"That's okay, Ratchet," said Clank quietly before leaving the room. The door shut behind him, leaving the bedroom in stark silence. Ratchet and his breakfast were by themselves.

Ratchet took this time to reflect upon what he saw last night that made him so terrified. _We were flying to Veldin and…something about an Empire…Drek, Vox, Otto? No, couldn't have been. _Ratchet started shoveling yogurt into his mouth, but didn't take the time to taste it. _Something about a crashed alien ship. _ Tossing away the cup, he picked up a box of Quark-O's and started pouring in miniature versions of the Q-Force into his cereal bowl.

For good measure, He stuffed a handful of Quarks, Helgas, Als, into his mouth; making sure it wasn't stale. After several minutes of slow chewing, he decided that it past his test.

His mind was elsewhere while the milk was pouring._ Clank was worried about something…_ Ratchet snapped out of his daydream when he saw that the milk had spilled over the rim.

Spooning cereal into his jaws, Ratchet started chewing; trying to get his mind off last night. The cereal felt strange however: like half cooked sausages and noodles. Frowning, he spat some out onto his hand.

Ratchet immediately threw the entire serving tray, (plates and all) out of the back window.

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!!!!! WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOORMS!!!" screamed the Lombax. Ratchet half ran half stumbled to the bathroom sink, stuck his mouth under the faucet and put it on full blast. A full minute of vigorous scrubbing passed before the Lombax emerged from the restroom.

"CLAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAANK!!!!!"

"Yes Ratchet? What is it now?" Clank said, running back upstairs. Ratchet was against the headboard, his sheets torn and stained, with shattered plates and assorted gourmet cuisine splattered over the floors and walls. "I assume the meal was not to your liking?"

"WHAT IS YOUR MAJOR MALFUNCTION CLANK!?THERE WERE MOTHERFUCKING WORMS IN MY MOTHERFUCKING CEREAL!" shrieked Ratchet at the top of his lungs.

Ratchet glared at Clank, expecting an answer, an apology, a comeback.

"Orxonese Sugar Worms," said the robot slowly, breaking the awkward silence. "A delicacy in numerous systems. It was going to be a surprise present for the new premier of the movie. A single worm may cost up to a 100 bolts each…

"I didn't kno-"

But that's not it, Ratchet. It's me Ratchet that you hate, don't you! I get all the women, the fame, the glory! You think that you're so special, with your Stunderwear and your wrench. But who always saves your ass huh? It was me who you relied on, who saved you, who appealed to your every whim and desire!"

"Clank, I'm just---"

But-AAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!!!!" The robot sank to his knees, clutching his head as if were about to explode. And as suddenly as the outburst began, it stopped. Clank got upon one knee, then another. He outwardly looked the same, but the eyes…

"B-bud?" Ratchet stammered out, not knowing what to say.

"Fuck you asshole!" growled Clank, climbing onto the foot of the bed.

The Lombax was stunned; never before has he seen him so furious, and this was the first time he has heard him swear. Clank whipped out what appeared to be some sort of archaic rifle and pointed it straight at the Lombax's head.

"Eat lead motherfucker !"

Where Ratchet's shocked face was present was now a giant, shell filled crater. Thankfully, Ratchet didn't need to be told twice to run when someone was pointing a gun at him. On the other hand, his lifelong friend has just gone off the deep end.

_Just be glad he didn't get the Plasma Rifle from under the bed_ hoped Ratchet.

"Wrong!" Clank's robotic voice took on a horrible deep pitch, not resembling the kind, compassionate automaton he's known for the last 6 years of his life.

_HE CAN READ MY MIND? HOLY SHIT!_

He dropped to the floor as he heard the familiar crackling sound of plasma reacting with the open air. A lance of green lightning shot overhead, curling the hairs off the tip of his ears and melting a 5-foot wide hole in the wall. Several commemorative plaques and photo frames ignited.

_If I can just get to the lift,_ thought Ratchet desperately, tumbling into the adjacent hallway. Jumping over a pile of stacked holovids, he sprinted in a zig-zag pattern, praying that Clank would somehow snap out of the delusions and recognize him.

Another flash of emerald light arced past the Lombax, causing him to instinctively jump to the left, causing Ratchet to painfully crash against the wall.

_Almost there,_ Ratchet gritting his teeth in pain. Just one turn to the left and straight on to the elevator.

"I'll teach you to fuck with me!!" bellowed a horrible, gurgling voice. Ratchet took one look over his shoulder and browned his pants. Clank (or what was Clank) was now a 30-foot tall mass of heaving metal, blades, and weapons. The thing was rolling across the floor, crushing windows and picture frames as it slogged onwards.

The lombax barfed out the remains of anything that was in his digestive tract, ruining the beautiful imported carpet. Not sparing a second glance, Ratchet dashed madly to the lift. He kicked furniture and large appliances out of the way, being just too scared to feel the pain of his broken toes.

After finally reaching the double doors of the lift, he started hammering manically on the down button. "OPEN UP BITCH, OPEN THE FUCK UP!" shrieked out Ratchet, pounding his fists bloody. 5 horrific seconds of eternity passed before the doors of salvation heaved open. Ratchet flung himself in, landing with a sickening crunch as he broke his left collarbone from the impact.

Ratchet groaned in agony, and tried to steady himself. "Must…close…door!" he wheezed out. He reached out feebly to the door and pressed his palm up against the manual close. As he looked up, though, _it_ came into the room.

"RAAAAATTCHHHHETHTH!" the thing half gurgled half roared.

"CLOSECLOSECLOSECLOSECLOSECLOSECLOSECLOSECLOSECLOSECLOSECLOSECLOSECLOSECLOSECLOSE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

The doors shut. Ratchet collapsed in relief, but not before a large circular blade spun into the small room. He didn't have time to dodge it. It flew straight at him. Ratchet could only shut his eyes and pray.

Like a bolt of lightning, pain flashed into his stomach. Looking down at, he saw that it had sliced open his stomach, leaving a giant gash. Ratchet could see his intestines start to tumble out like linked sausages, reminding him sickly of Al's hotdog party. Unable to take anymore, he lapsed into the haven of unconsciousness.

Ratchet awoke to the sound of the bell. Groaning in pain and blood loss, he staggered to his feet, and shuffled over to the door.

There was nothing on the other side. A dark void of utter blackness enclosed the steel box of the elevator in all directions. Not knowing what else to do, Ratchet peered down, praying fervently that it was just a mechanical failure.

Ratchet wished he didn't. A giant skeleton of black steel grinned at him from below, hanging from the edge with its metallic fingers. Clawing its way up, it slowly ascended until it stood before him, giggling insanely. Ratchet backed away, but tripped over a bump in the carpet, bashing his head against the ground.

The demon stood above him, the skull's grin mocking him. The thing bent down, its own face inches from Ratchet's own. It then spoke with a voice that was devoid of all pity and mercy.

"_**THE GODS OF CHAOS HAVE CHOSEN THEIR SACRIFIC: THE HERO OF FOUR GALAXIES."**_

The last thing Ratchet saw was a blood-red eight-pointed star and then everything faded to black.

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Ratchet bolted upwards in his chair, snapping out of his sleep. Quickly checking that all his limbs were present, he sighed in relief when he found that they were all still attached. _We're still on Veldin._ _We're on a diplomatic mission. We're emissaries._ _Clank went out to scout_.

"I'm alive!" shouted Ratchet to himself, laughing with pure joy. "FUCK YOU DEATH!

FUCK YOU!!!"


End file.
